


Familiar Nightmare

by HazelDomain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Episode: s03e10 Dream a Little Dream, Hellhounds, Horror, M/M, Nightmare, noncon, selfcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:53:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7529887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelDomain/pseuds/HazelDomain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean keeps having this nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiar Nightmare

Everybody knows that dream, the dream where you’re being chased by some invisible terror. You run, but your legs are mired in molasses. You can barely move, and the nameless Thing is gaining on you with every passing second.

The thing that chases Dean isn’t nameless.

He knows exactly what it is.

He runs through motel hallways and dilapidated old houses, mushed together into some massive labyrinth of inescapable terror. He knows if he can find a door, he’ll be safe. He needs to get outside, to where Sam’s waiting with the car.

If he can get there, he can get away, hit the gas and drive until the sound of baying hellhounds is nothing but a vague memory.

There aren’t any doors. There isn’t an escape. Not really.

He knows it even as he runs, as he forces his frozen limbs forward, trying to escape.

There’s never a door.

Instead, the hellhounds find him, hit him hard, bear him to the ground.

He has nothing to fight them. They are invisible and cannot be struck.

They’re commanded by a man with black eyes.

He stands above Dean and stares down at him with a cruel smirk. When he speaks, his voice is rough. Like he’s been screaming.

“Do you know what you’ll become, Dean?” the demon asks him. The dogs pin him down. Their breath is hot and muggy, their mouths wet as they tear the clothing from his body. “Do you know what you’ll _do_?”

“No,” Dean says, and it’s a denial, a plea.

“Do you know what you’ll endure, in the years between you and I?”

The black eyed man wears no clothes. His body is a network of scars. Serrated bite marks decorate his arms and shoulders. His belly bears the wide, red marks of something hot, or corrosive, or both. He’s missing two fingers on one hand.

Dean doesn’t want to look at his cock, but he does.

It hasn’t been spared- thick lines of keloids wind their way around his groin. One of his balls has been torn away.

Dean thinks he’s going to be sick, but he never is.

“You heal,” the demon tells him, turning his back, and Dean can see deep incisions crossing his back. There’s a crater on the back of his chest, like drywall that’s been punched in. Dean doesn’t want to think about it. “You heal, but you never die. Never. Not even if you want to.”

The demon turns back to face him. He sinks to his knees, straddling Dean’s hips.

“Things get buried, under the scars. You stop being able to feel them. You forget the people you loved. You don’t recognize them when they torture you. You look forward to forgetting the ones you can remember.”

He shoves two fingers into Dean’s mouth, shoving them back deep. Dean tries to bite him, his body doesn’t respond.

“And then you start enjoying it, Dean. You love it when they hurt you. The agony becomes bliss.”

Dean shakes his head, closes his eyes, tries not to believe. It’s a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

“But it’s _inevitable,_ ” the black-eyed man laughs, and then he’s shoving his way into Dean’s body, hard and dry, and Dean screams and laughs and the two of them blend together because he’s both of them, and he always has been.

 

He wakes with a scream, stifling it immediately from a lifetime of habit.

Sam’s awake, sitting at the little motel table, his face lit up by the glow of his laptop screen. He pretends not to have noticed the nightmare.

Sam also has a lifetime of habit.

Dean doesn’t need to ask what Sam’s doing. Sam’s looking for a way out of the deal, but if he asks, Sam will lie. Say he’s looking for a case. Say he couldn’t sleep.

There’s no way out of the deal. Dean knows that. He’s seen the future. A dozen times now.

He reaches for the bottle near the bed, not caring what it is, and lets it burn the taste of sulfur out of his mouth.


End file.
